


Changes

by sailsandanchors



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: F/M, Future Fic, un-betaed madness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-14
Updated: 2013-08-14
Packaged: 2017-12-23 10:19:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,195
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/925209
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sailsandanchors/pseuds/sailsandanchors
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sansa proposes to Sandor</p>
            </blockquote>





	Changes

**Author's Note:**

> This is a prompt by the lovely psychesandsexdrives for the SansanSecretValentine ages ago, the PG-13 version

The sun is shining through the window and I can hear mock battle cries and the clanging of swords coming from the yard. I pull the drapes aside and lean on the windowsill. My esteemed consort and our baby brother are training again, like they always do, with swinging swords and grinning faces. I smile as Rickon lands in the dirt and Arya lets out a whoop of victory.

When we found him his face was covered in dried mud and blood, his clothes mere threads hanging from sinewy limbs.  He had wild, direwolf eyes and a cruel mouth that snarled at us as we approached. Somehow our Rickon was still inside that husk and he is slowly returning to us. He and Arya have grown inseparable this past year, they built their rooms right next to each other and they jest and drink and try to kill each other in training. Time and time again she is able to pull him out of the darkness and I think he helps her as well. They rode off together when Arya heard word of Gendry and together they headed off on the longest hunting trip, when they returned to the North without him. Now it seems they are back.

Sandor is stirring in our bed, muttering gruff nothings and I return to his side, resting my back against the cool headboard.    

I called for him late last night and he came as always, the captain of my Queensguard, my loyal friend, my love. His rough hands and soft touch made me forget about the letter. There it is, on my writing desk, taunting me from afar. Another marriage proposal, the third I have received this month and certainly not the last.  I expect there will be even more to come once the roads are cleared of the last snow of winter, this time in person. I never thought that I would wish for spring to delay it’s arrival.

A large arm curls instinctively around my legs and I trace lazy paths up and down his many scars, some still angry and red and others wispy white threads. I owe these lines my life in more ways than one. We spent many nights together when I reclaimed the North, Sandor refused to leave my side when it was his turn to guard the Queen, even if he was clearly bleeding on the floor of my tent. Since he wouldn’t move and I like my floors without blood I had the maester inspect him after battle.

For such a big, strong man he most certainly is too childish by half.

He snorts as if he can hear my thoughts.

One night I decided that I had enough of him staring at me, getting caught and then pretending to be very interested in the hilt of his sword. His chest was bare and he had a disgruntled look on his face as the maester declared that this time it was indeed just a scratch on his hand and headed out. I had moved towards Sandor with long strides and my mind set to purpose. I took his scarred hand in mine and softly kissed it, my eyes never leaving his. Not even a Queen could resist the way his face softened, the deep lines on his forehead gone in a blink, or how his breath hitched and he waited frozen in place to see what I would do next. I had cupped his burnt cheek and he lowered his head almost in reverence, closing his eyes and saying my name. “Sansa” he had rasped and I leaned in and kissed him with a growing hunger, until he melted into me.

I am his and he is mine.

Arya is the only one who has knowledge of our entanglement, beyond rumors in hushed tones. Aware and weary, she always knocks twice before making her way through any locked door.

Maybe more people should know. I look at the letter again and I smile.

His beard rustles against my thighs with a familiar roughness, making my toes curl in memory.  He looks up at me with half-open eyes “You look content.” he says and he pulls me down so our faces are a whisper apart. I can feel him smile as I give him a small kiss on the burnt side of his mouth. “I have no reason to worry” I reply with a happy sigh. He tucks a strand of hair behind my ear. “Good.” he mumbles and starts kissing his way down my neck.

"Would you do anything for your Queen?" I say.

"Just ask." he mutters absently and resumes his lazy kisses. "Would you marry if I so wished it?" he stops. I take a deep breath and continue "I want you to be happy; you have been at war for so long. Maybe you should settle down, have a couple of children." I seem to be unable to add "with me". He pulls away and looks at me with stormy eyes "What is this bloody about woman?"

I’m surprised by how calm, how sure my voice sounds “Marry me, Sandor?”

He lets out a breath as if he’s been struck in the chest. This does not bode well. He rolls on his back crossing his arms. “No.” he says flatly and closes his eyes with a sigh. Not the answer I hoped for “No?”

His eyes are glued to the ceiling and there is a long silence until he finally says “You don’t want me. You want a young lad with pretty words and courtesies, some brave and strong lord”. He turns to face me, looking aged all of a sudden, more somber than usual. “I destroy and kill, I rip away life. I won’t be much use supporting it. You should know that by now. You want someone whole.” he leans in as if to kiss my forehead, yet stops abruptly and moves to leave.

I’m not going to let him.

"I have had enough of lords and princes. If Florian himself sent word I would decline." He looks at me with a questioning scowl. "I want to marry you Sandor Clegane and I do not care if you think you are not good enough, because you are wrong. You are the truest, bravest man I know that still draws breath in the Seven Kingdoms. Your answer can be no now and forever, but I have to ask once more. Your Queen is asking you to be her husband; would you twice dismiss her love? My love?”

 I see his frown replaced with softening eyes and a small smile that can still make my belly flutter and my cheeks blush. I remember a time when I was scared of this face, twisted memories of a little bird and a hound. I had never seen it in those cruel years as it is now, loved.

He kisses me like he has kissed me a thousand times now. His lips do not feel different and his fingers tilting up my chin are an ordinary touch. It is the warmest, most stirring embrace we have shared.

Everything has changed. 


End file.
